Page 64 of The Risk Taker

I swing my bag around my chest and drag a hand through my hair. But I can’t help but grab my phone and open Logan’s message from earlier, waiting for me, taunting me.

Logan:

Don’t leave me hanging, Hayes. Tell me what I want to know.

I glance around, making sure no one’s looking over my shoulder. Then I exhale slowly, my thumb hovering above the keyboard. I don’t know why I’m still pretending when we both know exactly what that picture did to me.

Me:

Yes.

17

LOGAN

Austin flops onto the ice the second Coach blows the final whistle, his arms splayed over his head.

Ryan skates by and flicks a spray of snow into his face. “Get up, you drama queen.”

Austin groans, throwing an arm over his eyes. “Just leave me to die.”

I let out a snort, feeling the same as I drag my glove down my face, sweat sticking to my skin from the seventy-five minutes of torture we just survived.

“Good practice today,” Coach says. “Bus leaves at eight sharp tomorrow. If you’re late, you’re walking to the game.”

Austin raises a limp hand without lifting his head. “What if traffic makes me late?”

Coach arches a brow. “Then run.”

A few tired laughs ripple through the guys as everyone starts making their way toward the locker room.

I glance to my side and see Nathan still down at the net, on his knees, collecting loose pucks and dropping them one by one into the bucket.

I huff out a laugh and skate his way. “You realize there are people who get paid to do that, right?”

“I like to leave it clean,” he says finally, lifting his gaze to mine for all of half a second.

Of course he does.

“Jesus,” I mutter, shaking my head. “You gonna stay after and Windex the boards next?”

The corner of his mouth twitches like he’s trying not to smile as he pushes to his feet.

My eyes drop to his leg without thinking. He’s not limping, which is good. I guess it means his leg is doing better. Don’t know, though, because I haven’t asked. I can tell he’s still reeling from his late-night admission in the kitchen and the last thing I want to do is push him.

I glance away before he can catch me watching him, and skate toward the tunnel, raking a hand through my sweat-damp hair. I hear his blades behind me, scraping against the ice as he follows.

The locker room’s already blaring with Austin’s music by the time I push the door open. He’s perched on the bench in front of his stall with his shirt off and his chest heaving as he mouths along to a song he knows none of the words to.

The guys always give him shit for his playlists, but honestly, I kind of like it. It makes it feel more like we’re gearing up for a party instead of peeling off sweat-soaked gear and icing every muscle in our bodies.

I shove my helmet off and toss it into my cubby, then reach down to start unlacing my skates, still hyper-aware of the guy settling into the stall two down from mine, his back turned to me.

He tugs his jersey over his head, and my eyes track the movement, catching on the stretch of his back and muscles. Jesus.

Come the fuck on, Logan. I’ve seen every guy in this locker room shirtless and much more undressed than that. Hell, I’ve walked in on Austin doing naked squats with a dumbbell once. I’ve never had this problem before.

But this isNathan.